George Lazenby 'returns' in "Diamonds Are Forever" (final two ch.) FINISHED (2007-17)



  • SirHilaryBrayOBESirHilaryBrayOBE Chez Hilly, Portsmouth
    Posts: 66
    we're almost there, sooner than I thought but maybe that's for the next revision in 2027.




    There were no roads out from Sugar Bunker or Coyote Springs on the I93 and so Bond parked just outside the former before proceeding on foot armed only with his gun. For once he had the gadgets. He smiled at the memory of saying that to Q two years ago as he then gazed at Tracy who had the ear of her adoring father. Where had he gone wrong in these two years? A secret agent could not be preoccupied with anything but himself and yet he had let himself go. Bond knew enough of that point, that in two years he had gone renegade effectively, to find Blofeld. Munich had been the moment that M had had enough –when Bond’s efforts to capture the ‘big man’ had gone terribly awry. Burning down a hotel and beerhaus during a fierce firefight. All because of Tracy. Had she lived, would they still be together? Would they have had children? Would Bond have left the service?
    He knew that he would have. He had fallen in love with Tracy and knew deep down that his life would have changed forever had he not stopped on that ledge. Once back from honeymoon, Bond would have walked down that carpeted corridor on the ninth floor to M’s office and handed over his resignation. He would have been obliged to re-sign the Official Secrets Act, give up certain privileges, certain things and he would have emptied his office for good this time. Then his lifestyle, he liked to think Tracy would let him still do certain matters like his shooting at the range (to stay sharp) or going to a club perhaps but his womanising, his little book of numbers of bored wives and so forth would end. Yes, he would have as hard as it would have been for some people to accept. He likely would have ended up working for Marc Ange. Imagine M’s face! Or Her Majesty’s if she knew that one of her most dedicated agents ended up working for the head of the Union Corse.
    And Blofeld? Bond would have gotten him somehow. They were drawn to each other like hunter and hunted.
    Unlike Diamond Whyte/Whyte Industries, there were no signs leading the way to this facility. Whyte Springs was well hidden and well away from the naked eye. In this age before spy satellites it was easily hidden. Bond had walked two miles in ever decreasing temperatures before he came to a valley. It was a shallow one –a gradual descent of a hundred feet he deduced- that tapered off into the distance north. Bond dropped to one knee hand over his eyes. The glare of Las Vegas was to the south behind him, making the sky glow as if summoning energy from the earth’s core. Bond searched the valley noting what looked to be a dirt track of some description. Then he saw the facility, it was across the floor of the valley almost filling the width, consisting of one long flat looking building. Getting in would be hard, for it looked deceptively easy. Unlike Whyte Industries there would be no sneaking in under a truck. Bond lay flat now; he stayed like that for an hour adjusting to the cold that startled to creep into his bones. Nothing stirred at the facility though two lights twinkled on at the front. Small lights that would not be seen above the valley walls. Bond waited, his limbs were stiff and he felt cold not that either were enough to put him off this. He sensed an endgame –be it his or Blofeld’s.
    Just after eleven o’clock, with the sky pitch black but for the twinkling of the stars and the distant halo over Vegas, Bond slithered down the side of the valley. In skips and jumps he made his way towards the foot of the valley where eventually he stopped. Pausing for breath he checked to make sure his gun was still with him and cautiously advanced in the shadow of the valley towards the entrance of Whyte Springs. Closer and closer he got feeling as if by now someone should have seen him. Yet he was able to reach the walls of the facility a few minutes on with no hint of detection and with his head hammering.
    Kill Blofeld…Kill Blofeld!
    He tried to dismiss the thought, it continued to hammer relentlessly inside his mind. Sepia coloured memories plagued him as he swayed on his feet. Putting the ring on Tracy’s finger to cheers and clinking of glasses. Sitting in his office with the mementoes of past missions. Largo, Goldfinger and Grant…his parents the last time he saw them.
    See you James, don’t play up now.
    Kill Blofeld…Kill Blofeld.

    Bond turned, a doorway was opening next to him impossibly revealing itself as if the surface of the building had evaporated. The door had simply formed. Bond went for his gun until he realised he was now lying on his side. His head pounded and pounded until red danced into his vision. Two shadows appeared in the doorway coming for him. He then smelt a shocking aftershave and heard a singsong voice say: “Come now, Mr Bond, our boss would like a word.”
    Bond collapsed into unconsciousness.


    Tracy knelt by Bond, she took his head in her hands and cradled him to her.
    “It’s quite all right, darling, you just need a rest and we’ll be moving on. I cannot wait to spend my life with you.”
    Bond groaned. “Tracy, we have to go, Blofeld will be here soon.”
    “I don’t care, I love you.”
    “I…,” Bond opened his eyes and saw Tracy dissipate; she changed into a toadlike squat figure with dark red hair. “Irma Bunt.”
    “Liebchen, the Britischer is awake!”
    Blofeld drifted into view wearing a grey jumpsuit. He laughed throatily. “I had no idea your quest for vengeance would lead to your own downfall, 007. If you’re the best M has, I should start looking for new spies were I him.”
    Bond’s response of where Blofeld could take his advice earned him more loud laughter, including from Bunt. “You have no idea,” Blofeld advanced on Bond, “of your predicament do you?”
    True. It was then that Bond realised he was strapped to a chair not unlike that of a dentist. He was bound across his torso by two separate straps and across his ankles. Escape was not quite possible it seemed. He tried all the same, tensing and flexing his muscles to try and force the binds. They did not give an inch, Blofeld was now at his side eyes feverishly bright. “What pain did I inflict on that roadside, hmm? The famed 007 desperately seeking vengeance. You know, I acquired your latest write-ups from SIS –oh don’t wonder how, there really is no point. You’re washed out, Bond, you’re no longer useful to the service. No more sleuthing for Her Majesty, though quite what she would think of you now is quite entertaining to consider.”
    Bond’s teeth bore in a rictus of rage. “You won’t leave this place alive, Blofeld. You and your bitch of a woman.”
    Bunt hissed like a venomous snake, advancing a step she was held back by Blofeld wagging a finger. “No, no, my dear. Mr Bond needs an etiquette lesson,” Blofeld leant right in so Bond could smell his minty breath and scent of sweat. “It is you who will not leave this place alive and I will fulfill my ambition of bringing the world to its knees at last!”
    It really was quite absurd, Bond thought, the dialogue that played out that wee small hour of the night. For a moment he saw Tracy skiing down the mountain slopes, the grin they exchanged as they made good their escape.
    I’ll always be with you, no matter what.
    The hideous goons known as Mr Wint and Mr Kidd entered the room and proceeded to lower Bond to a horizontal position. Standing at his head, the large Mr Kidd placed something metallic onto Bond’s forehead and cheeks. Bond started to wiggle to Blofeld and Bunt’s amusement. At his feet he felt Wint take off a shoe and sock, something wiry brushed against his foot and then he felt blinding pain lance through his body as electricity surged down through his head. His body arced and he screamed in spite of his best efforts not to.
    “I expect nothing of you but to die now, Bond,” Blofeld called to him. “I’ve made mistakes in the past as far as you’re concerned. This time, I shall not repeat them. Mr Wint, you may continue.”
    As Bunt and Blofeld filed out, Wint applied the charge again. Bond’s body bent at the waist, thrusting up with the pain. As he sagged back down, weak and weary he was sure he heard distant explosions and sounds of gunfire. Clearly he had not entirely gone mad for Wint heard them too: “Sounds like trouble, Mr Kidd.”
    “What do we do, Mr Wint?”
    Wint’s eyes gleamed in the shadowy light above. “We finish him, Mr Kidd.”
    Again –the pain came.


    It had all happened with the same kind of urgent rush that Felix had become accustomed to after meeting James Bond those years ago in Jamaica. His specialty had become the cavalry to the rescue, best symbolised by the organising of a platoon of Marines coming to the Bahamas and dropped in spectacular style into the water to fight Largo and his men. Though this was not quite the same scale, it certainly was a rush job of great proportions. From the penthouse, Felix quickly arranged for the activation of the local National Guard based in the city’s outer limits. This took Willard Whyte himself to accomplish for, as he put it, the ‘guvnor owes me one’. Felix then took Tiffany and her Mustang from the basement garage and hared out into the wilderness. Finding the facility in spite of its position on the map was actually difficult. As Bond had found, there was no obvious road to it and it was inspired guesswork that led Felix to drive off the main road and across seemingly desolate wasteland towards the valley that Bond hours earlier had reached.
    “What now, Felix?” Tiffany asked a little mockingly. She was annoyed at the pace of proceedings and worried for Bond. If Bond was going through a breakdown, there was little time to rescue him before he disappeared down that black hole forever.
    “Oh ye of little faith,” grunted Felix as he went to the trunk. Such was the rush from the Whyte House he had quite literally thrown what he could grab en route down to the garage into the trunk. He produced a Very flare pistol which after loading hastily he aimed skywards and fired. The green flare whooshed in a bobbing line at a few degrees angle over the valley briefly illuminating it. Then darkness returned. Tiffany’s sarcastic tone seemed deafening in the silence: “Oh, well, that’ll get them running.”
    “Miss Case, quiet,” Felix said with the same lack of patience he had had when rescuing Whyte. He made a mental note to never come to Nevada again.
    A full minute passed before the steady beating of rotor blades sounded. The noise was dense signifying the approach of a few helicopters. From over the southward horizon came at least six Bell helicopters each with searchlights turned on and fully illuminating the valley below. Shielding her eyes Tiffany shouted: “This is it?”
    “Yep, the cavalry,” Felix waved an arm upwards. As the helicopters swooped overhead Felix could make out FBI man Bradshaw in the lead helicopter with its ‘NATIONAL GUARD’ labelling across the doors. The choppers dived into the valley firing rockets as they descended. Explosions lit across the valley floor, shaking the facility below as if in the grips of an earthquake. Felix leapt across the bonnet of the Mustang in his race to get into the car: “Get in!”
    Tiffany hurried, closing the door just as Felix floored the accelerator. The Mustang flew down the side of the valley, its tyres gripping quite well considering the sudden change in gradient and speed with which Felix flung the car forward with. Already the Guardsmen were landing and storming the front of the facility, engaged by Blofeld’s SPECTRE goons. Felix drove at the entrance, weaving left and right around and through the battle. Tiffany held on for dear life, she daren’t say something now. Felix changed gears as the entrance loomed before them, a hole had been blasted across the wall and it was just big enough for him to get through.
    “Hold tight,” he commanded and changed gear one last time.
    With a roar of its engine, the gleaming red Mustang charged through the gap and into Blofeld’s lair.


    “I think he’s dead.”
    Mr Wint shuffled up to Bond’s head, the British agent was slumped, steam rising from his chest. The sounds of battle remained muffled beyond the enclosed room deep in the bowels of the facility. Bond appeared quite broken, like a rag doll with his arms hanging limply at his side. “He does appear to have met his maker.”
    Wint busied himself with undoing Bond’s binds at his side and then started at his ankles. There was a strong smell of burning that permeated his nostrils that he found quite exhilarating. Driving a man to death had been something that Wint found enjoyable. Such was the power one man could have over another. Had he been paying attention amidst his euphoria, Wint might have been ready for what happened next. Then again, he might not have been. The moment the ankle binds loosened; Bond’s legs came up and kicked out like a donkey’s. Mr Wint was sent scattering across the floor, tripping and going legs over top. Bond reached out getting Mr Kidd in a grip around his chubby neck. Bond had his hands on the back of the neck and squeezed, as Mr Kidd groaned and thrashed at Bond, Mr Wint came to his feet and seeing what was going on, screamed like a broaching whale.
    As he came at Bond, the British agent rolled off the dentist chair taking Kidd with him. Letting go of Kidd he swung at Wint, delivering a roundhouse punch to the midriff that knocked the wind out of the assassin. Another punch from the left fist and a further from the right knocked Wint down. Bond now was rugby tackled by Kidd who all but lifted Bond off his feet and slammed Bond to the ground. Winded, Bond struggled across the floor. He came across the disposed of piece of exposed wire that had been used on him. Grabbing it with both hands he went onto his back just as Kidd reached down to lift him up. Stabbing with the wire he was rewarded with blue jolts of electricity surging up into Mr Kidd. For one comical moment, Mr Kidd shuddered and shrieked as volts of energy went up into him and fried him. Eventually Kidd dropped to his knees, then onto his back –smoke rising from him. Mr Wint came to and yelped: “Mr Kidd!”
    “He had a shocking state of mind,” Bond remarked before ruthlessly jabbing at Wint’s windpipe. Not waiting to see the result of his action, Bond limped to his feet and paused to put his shoe back on. He went to the cell door, opening it he paused hearing the sounds of battle all around. Then he heard a voice sound over an intercom:
    “Zero minus three minutes and counting.”
    What the hell? Bond then realised with the clarity that came to a man sometimes –Blofeld and his rockets! One last gasp of a man who knew the game was up. Blindly, Bond ran down the corridor. Time to send Blofeld to Hell and back.

  • SirHilaryBrayOBESirHilaryBrayOBE Chez Hilly, Portsmouth
    Posts: 66
    Well, this is it, the final two chapters.

    For much of this, as with the old days, I made use of the DAF soundtrack but also certain tracks from Thunderball (Chateau Flight/Street Chase and a few others). For the penultimate chapter the track listing might be as follows:
    "To Hell With Blofeld", "007 and Counting" (both from DAF), John Barry's 1977 version of the OHMSS theme, "Ski Chase/Theme" (from the Barry 40th anniversary collection) and the James Bond Symphonic Theme.


    “To Hell with Blofeld”

    Felix had not thought things through in his mad flight to Whyte Springs. This was chiefly relating to the fact he had brought Tiffany along. A woman who conceivably would have no skills to bring to a battle. She was the diamond woman, not someone who could help out and why had he brought her? Damned if he knew anymore. Driving into the building, Felix had crouched behind his open door exchanging shots with the security forces until the Guardsmen had forced their way in en masse and countered the comparatively amateurish forces. The side of the building they was in looked like an aircraft hangar with a shiny floor and high ceiling. Two lorries with the ‘WW’ logo were parked of to one side whereas the remainder of the floor had a pile of boxes lined up against the wall out into the floor itself. Felix took off at a gallop across the floor zig-zagging between boxes until he reached the far wall. The battle was everywhere now, explosions outside, gunfire inside and ever ranging spreading gunfire at that. This was when he realised he had lost Tiffany, looking back he could just make out the empty Mustang and in between no sign whatsoever of the redhead dead or alive. Cursing, Felix turned to run upwards into a tunnel that led out of the hangar. He just had to hope that he found Bond in time, never mind Tiffany. Somehow, he knew she would turn up somewhere.

    The room that Bond found himself in after a brief run was more of a cavern. From where Bond stood the room opened up with a sloping roof –it was ten feet from floor to ceiling where he stood rising to at least a hundred feet at the end. At the opposing end of the room were three rockets painted black and white resting at odd angles on launch sleds. They reminded Bond of the images of V1 launch-sites from the war. This was Blofeld’s last gamble, intercontinental missiles aimed at Washington? London? Even China? There was no one about which made him instantly cautious. Creeping down the far right wall, Bond kept his eyes on the missiles. Just above their tips the cavernous roof was opening revealing the stars over the desert.
    “Zero minus two minutes and counting,” that invisible voice droned on once again. Bond came away from the wall, running towards the missiles. Reaching the three rockets he noticed that close to their exhausts were small slants that revealed glittering stars within. So, this was where Tiffany’s diamonds ended up. Just like a top secret Nazi project rumoured to have happened at Peenemunde in the closing stages of the war. Diamonds used as a quicker, more efficient mean of propulsion. Metz, Bond reasoned.
    Bullets pinged off the rocket sending Bond to the ground; he scurried under the rightmost rocket and peered around the base conscious that the steam billowing from each rocket was strengthening.
    “Zero minutes one minute and counting.”
    “You can’t win, Bond!” Blofeld’s voice rang out followed by another burst of machine gun fire. “I should’ve known that Wint and Kidd would have failed me.”
    “You just can’t get the staff nowadays,” Bond crept backwards. As he did there came an explosion close by, looking up through the silo ceiling he could just make out the shadowy outline of a helicopter as it whooshed past firing into the building. Felix! Bond smiled and stood. “Game’s up Blofeld.”
    Bond took off at a sprint around the missiles. It clearly startled Blofeld who stood at the far side with his gun looking stupidly at Bond. When he raised the gun there came a second more thunderous explosion. Part of the cavern roof came down smashing two of the rockets beneath the weight of the rock fall. The third missile was knocked off its sled –its exhaust died quickly with a somewhat impish poof of noise. Still Bond came at Blofeld who with a horror stricken expression turned and fled. Bond followed him as he threw the gun away, Bond stooped to pick it up with one hand in one fluid motion and kept on after Blofeld. Around them the building was imploding as the Guard kept on at Blofeld’s men. Far behind the two men now, that third missile’s exhaust reignited and the missile began to spin furiously on the ground. When the explosion came it brought down a sizable chunk of White Springs around it. The ground shook furiously as if in the grip of a giant hand, debris flew in all directions. Blofeld tripped as he entered a smaller if similarly cavernous room. Here there were rocket parts and what seemed to be some sort of escape vehicle for Blofeld –a small two seater monorail car. Bond did not notice any of this as he closed in on Blofeld like a tomahawk, slamming into him and wrestling him to the ground in one single motion. Dust and dirt showered from the ceiling, secondary explosions rumbled ominously close. Bond and Blofeld wrestled the latter with a panicked determination to live. He saw Bond’s face up close, the teeth bared in an animalistic roar of rage and anger. Bond punched him once then was rewarded with two punches to his midriff. Blofeld tried to get up, pushing up against Bond before he fell atop Bond who gripped him by his shirtfront. Bond released his hands and grabbed Blofeld around his throat. Thumbs pressing up against his larynx, Bond pushed and pushed hard. He then rolled over so he could bring his full leverage against Blofeld. His mind was ever shrinking to a narrow point where a kaleidoscope of memories were flashing past.
    Mr and Mrs James Bond…
    You’ve given me the best gift of all, a future…
    For once Q, I have all the gadgets…
    I love you Tracy…I know I’ll never find another girl like you…
    Head for the trees!
    Tears should be shared between friends…or lovers.
    Please stay alive, at least for tonight.
    Good morning, the name’s Bond, James Bond.

    Bond screamed as he squeezed with all his energy, he banged Blofeld’s head for good measure against the stone floor. He kept on even when Blofeld’s eyes rolled into the back of his head, even when the tongue extruded from his swollen lips and even when he heard the neck crack. Dimly, he recollected climbing off the body, panting like a dog. He had done it, had gotten Blofeld. Tracy was avenged. Not quite. As he painfully got onto his knees he felt a presence and saw that Irma Bunt had snuck up on him. She looked grief stricken, her yellow eyes narrowed and her reptile like tongue flicking out as she clubbed Bond across the face with a rifle. Bond fell back across Blofeld, his vision swam, his mind –already darkening, went further into recess. “You bitch!” he snapped lurching to his feet, he grabbed at the rifle, his fingers hurting as she tried to wrench it clear. She swore at him in German, several epithets that seemed quite hilarious to Bond in the surrounding of an imploding base. Bond managed to get the rifle out of her hands and with his right hand punched her in the face. This was no time for gentlemanly warfare, he reasoned. His mind, clouded as it was, knew enough that Bunt had been as responsible for Tracy and all that happened at Piz Gloria. Bunt staggered back than came at Bond like a wounded animal. She clawed at his face, Bond smacked her arms away with the rifle, tripping over Blofeld he landed on his backside. Looking up, he saw Bunt go to leap at him. Bond fired the rifle, it was a clumsy un-aimed shot but it was a shot all the same. Bunt’s leap was halted; she tottered forward then seemed to gather renewed strength. Bond fired twice more, the second shot spinning her round where she fell face first into the corpse of her master and lover. Bond dropped the rifle to one side; he crawled over to where Bunt and Blofeld lay.
    That was how Tiffany found him. The redhead had been running through the complex, dodging goons and explosions alike in her crazed need to find Bond. As Felix reasoned, she had no real need to be here and yet she was and her need was to find Bond. When she entered this room by chance she first had seen the monorail car hanging by the wall looking innocuous amidst the carnage. Then she saw Bond and ran at him. Her hair was mottled by sweat and dirt, her clothes streaked with plaster and dust. Dropping to her knees by Bond she took him by an arm. “James, come on, we have to get out of here.”
    “Tracy?” he whispered, eyes watery and red.
    “Tiffany!” she exploded with frustration. “Come on, we have to go!”
    “I don’t know any Tiffany,” he shrugged off her arm and she saw that he really did not know her. He seemed a shell of a man. “Let me go.”
    “You’re coming mister whether you like it or not,” a section of the roof fell into the room crashing nearby. Tiffany waved a hand to rid of the dust that enveloped them. Getting Bond to his feet she looked about, where to? The monorail car, but where did it go? She managed to get Bond into the car, strapping him into the right hand seat. As she came round to the left hand side, the roof gave way behind her covering Blofeld and Bunt’s bodies in several feet of masonry and destruction. She had no idea of course just who these two were to Bond. Climbing into the car which swayed with the motion, Tiffany frantically searched the dashboard. Taking a guess that the red button between her and Bond did something she stabbed at it. The dashboard lit up including one button that read ‘TUNNEL’. Tiffany pressed this and whooped when she saw the wall ahead of her slide back to reveal a tunnel that stretched into the darkness, lit at measured points by roof lights. Automatically the monorail moved into the tunnel gathering speed as it did so. Tiffany glanced at Bond, his pale features occasionally lit by the blurring lights.
    “Oh, James, what happened to you?”
    There was no answer as the car sped away whilst behind and above them the remainder of Whyte Springs was destroyed.

    for the final chapter, such as it is, I made use of the following Barry tracks (from his Themependium): Who Will Buy My Yesterdays?, Slow Day, Moviola, Sail the Summer Winds and Walkabout


    “Who Will Buy My Yesterdays?”

    M chewed on his pipe which jutted from the right corner of his mouth as he listened to the voice on the receiver. Moneypenny tried not to feel impatient as she stood by his desk watching. Tanner was absent. The open window had let in some of the summery air that had came upon London this week. The hubbub from nearby Marylebone Road was loud as ever all the same.
    “Yes, yes, I understand, thank you,” M said eventually carefully putting the phone down. He seemed to be unaware of Moneypenny for a moment then he looked at her removing the pipe from his mouth. “You might as well know, Miss Moneypenny, he’s fine.”
    Moneypenny felt relieved, she all but cheered but simply nodded. “Yes, sir. Thank God.”
    “I’m not altogether sure He had anything to do with it,” M drawled in that familiar manner of his. He tapped out his pipe, reaching for his box he went about filling it. “I’m not sure if 007 will return home…,” he hesitated. Felix Leiter had gone into detail about what had happened in Nevada. What happened to Bond and that Case woman afterwards –their monorail car emerging at a Whyte building in Sacramento of all places. “Doub- James, is not well Moneypenny. It might be some time before he returns to duty.”
    “I see, sir,” Moneypenny clasped her notepad with both hands like a man would a float in the middle of the Atlantic.
    “Amend 007’s file accordingly, he is on what they call ‘gardening leave’.”
    Moneypenny’s grip slackened. That meant Bond had a good chance of coming back. “Yes, sir.”
    “Send the Chief of Staff up here.”
    “Aye, aye sir,” she said with a smile enjoying M’s own smile in return. That was it, she left the office and sat at her desk head in hands for a moment. When she took them away to reach for her phone, she saw her hands were wet with tears.
    M, alone in his office, lit his pipe and walked to his window. Hands behind his back as was his custom on the bridge of his commands, M watched the park for a moment. He thought about Teresa Bond –would forever recall the wedding because of what happened afterwards. She had been quite the woman to affect Bond so much. With a slight shake of the head, M returned to his desk. Reaching for his red pen that he kept by his side, he made several thick lines across a file before scrawling ‘M’ across the cover and pushing it to one side where soon it would be discarded, archived and forgotten. The lines all but obscured the neat typewriting in the middle –
    ‘Operation: BEDLAM’.


    Tiffany slammed the boot of the Mustang with one hand and juggled the two bags of groceries masterfully. She paused for a moment to feel the breeze come off Lake Tahoe and then went into the cabin nearby. Disposing the bags in the kitchen she went out the kitchen door which led right on the Californian shoreline of Tahoe. There was a small wooden jetty that jutted about six feet into the water. Tiffany stood with hands on hips, her hotpants showing off her legs and her red t-shirt her figure aside. Felix had managed to get them the cabin having pulled some strings though she suspected Willard Whyte had helped. After she and Bond had surfaced in Sacremento, everyone descended on them like they were fugitives including Felix and Whyte. Her boss said he’d keep her in his employ grinning: “I shall as hellfire need a gal like you working for me!”
    Felix had badgered her about this guy Blofeld and she said she had seen the body buried. As for Bond…
    So, she had a job still and one day life would return to normal. One day there would be no British secret agents or CIA men. One day the shadow of Blofeld would die away as surely as the sun would. Whyte needed help to rebuild (though the empire was untouched, much of it had been added to by Blofeld) but he could wait.
    Tiffany walked onto the jetty where the man sat. His hair was long, touching his shoulders, he had a thick beard and wore jeans and an unbuttoned white shirt. Looking up, James Bond had that blank expression as when she found him in Blofeld’s lair. She sat down next to him. “Hi, James.”
    “Tiffany,” he said quietly and refocused on his fishing. Felix’s boffins flown in from Langley had said Bond had had an ‘episode’. The post-trauma of losing Tracy had intensified where its end would only be when Blofeld was dead. Killing Blofeld had broken Bond. It would be some months perhaps before he returned to normal.
    “Catch anything?”
    “Not much.”
    Tiffany reached out to put a hand on his thigh and leant against him resting her head upon his shoulder. Bond said nothing, which was good though. For now they had each other and tomorrow plus all their yesterdays.
    Out across the lake, birds flocked together and then out over the Nevada shoreline catching the sun as they did so before disappearing out of sight.

    END- James Bond will ‘return’ in THE SPY WHO LOVED ME

    Oddly draining at the death but there we go. The dream is to get Lazenby to narrate this as an audio drama haha.

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